


Team One

by itachiscatears



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Generation Swap, Content Warning: Alcohol, First Kiss, Genin Team, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29492286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itachiscatears/pseuds/itachiscatears
Summary: Hashirama insists on a genin team reunion and Madara is forced to face his old teammates.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara, Senju Hashirama/Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Mito, Senju Hashirama/Uzumaki Mito, Uchiha Madara/Uzumaki Mito
Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166189
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Team One

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Hashirama/Madara/Mito, genin team AU and first kiss" for @al-stuffy on Tumblr.
> 
> This is kind of a generation swap – the Founders are Naruto’s generation and Naruto’s generation are the Founders (but that’s a whole other story). They’re around 20 here?
> 
> Written: January 2021.

With the alcohol flowing and conversation ceaseless as they talk about two years’ worth of developments, Madara nearly forgets why he had been so reluctant to attend in the first place.

The mokuton cabin is nestled deep in the forest, ridiculously elaborate for a single night’s sleep. They are in Hashirama’s element, surrounded by trees in the forest that used to be part of the Senju stronghold before the village was founded. Madara cannot help wondering if he is the first Uchiha to spend the night and survive.

The cabin is warm from the stove, alcohol and Hashirama’s chakra alike. He has refined his skills significantly in the years since making chūnin and jōnin, his mokuton not requiring as much chakra, but it permeates even the air.

“I’m going for a walk,” Madara says sometime after midnight, putting down his hand of cards and standing from the table. He must not have been paying attention to how many times Hashirama had refilled his cup – his vision blurs around the corners, body unpleasantly loose.

“I’ll co—”

“Hashirama,” Mito says simply, laying down a new card.

“Wha—oh.”

Madara rolls his eyes at the ceiling as he steps into his sandals and walks out into the night. The forest is eerily quiet, only the faint trickling of a nearby stream and the occasional rustle of wind in the trees to fill the silence. He expands his sensory range as he walks, checking for unwanted guests, but the forest is empty save them and the animals.

He finds a discreet place to piss and washes his hands in the frigid stream. The moon casts watery shadows across the forest floor; Madara watches the sky as he ambles back, drunkenly appreciating the half-moon and the bright stars. Maybe they can stay another night and camp outside properly to really reminisce about their genin days like Hashirama intended.

He stands outside the cabin for a long time, simply gazing at the bright sky. Rarely does he have the time to linger on such a mundane thing; it is unexpectedly soothing. Finally he turns and enters the cabin, toeing off his sandals inside the door.

Hashirama startles visibly, lifting his head from Mito’s shoulder, and like that Madara’s good mood is gone. He does not need a vivid imagination to imagine what they had probably been doing while he was gone. He has no-one to say _I told you so_ to but himself.

“I’m going to sleep,” he says shortly, turning away from them. 

“Have one more drink with us,” Mito says, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her hair had come loose at some point, framing her face is soft red waves. “The night has gone by so fast.”

“Fine.”

He does not suggest staying another night. Right now he does not even want to stay for _this_ one.

Hashirama chatters on about a mission they had not finished discussing earlier, but Madara hears little of it; he tells himself not to let one little thing ruin an otherwise _nice_ evening with his old team—his friends. His only friends, but he has never needed others. He had never thought he needed _these_ ones with four brothers and numerous cousins to choose from.

“Madara, what’s wrong?” Hashirama asks despondently. It is a moment before he realises he must have missed what Hashirama considered to be a particularly good joke. “You seemed happy earlier.”

“Nothing.”

He reaches out, fingers squeezing his forearm. “Madara—"

“I’m tired and I’ve had too much to drink,” he grits out. The alcohol does nothing to help the self-pity. “That’s all.”

“Madara—”

“ _Hashirama_ ,” he snaps, “I—”

“Is it because I kissed Mito? I’ll kiss you too.”

He promptly shuts his mouth. Mito is frozen next to them, cards half-packed into their pouch. Madara does not dare, for the first time since they were assigned to team 1 all those years ago, meet her eye.

He finally rips his arm from Hashirama’s hand and begins to stand. “Go to bed, Hashi—"

Hashirama lurches forward, fisting his clothes and dragging him back down; Madara’s knee bangs into the table and he hisses in surprise. Mito’s hand grabs at Hashirama’s where it is fisted in his kimono. A mouth crushes his.

He should punch Hashirama into the next dimension. Instead he stands hunched with heavy hands trying to drag him closer, a lock of someone’s hair caught in the corner of his mouth. Hashirama kisses him hard—clumsily. He breathes heavily through his nose and pulls back an inch, hot breath wetting Madara’s frozen mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispers sheepishly and leans in again. Madara snaps his head to the side and shoves him away.

Even intoxicated Hashirama is agile; he stumbles but catches himself on the table before he hits the ground. For a horrible moment they simply stare at each other, starkly aware that some things _cannot be undone._

“You’re drunk,” Madara breathes hoarsely, turning away to find his bedroll. “Go to sleep, Hashirama.”

“Madara,” Mito says, quick as a whip.

He stops. Breathes in deeply. “What.”

“I’m not.”

The words make little sense to his tumultuous mind but he can tell he is missing something: Mito does not speak for the hell of it. _I’m not, I’m not, I’m not._

“What?”

“I’m not drunk.”

He digests this sluggishly. Behind him Hashirama stands and whispers, “Mito, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

He whirls around. “Are you two _ambushing_ me?”

Mito holds his eye, though her face is lightly flushed and the curve of her mouth is more nervous than he has ever seen.

“Not tonight,” she says plainly. “If you were receptive, we were going to set up another evening. Hashirama got ahead of himself, as usual. This was just supposed to be a genin reunion.”

For a long time no-one speaks. Madara is dumbfounded. _How can they speak of this so openly? How long had they felt this way?_

“We can talk in the morning,” Mito says quietly, a tinge of regret in her voice, and turns away from him to clear the table. Even softer: “Perhaps you should apologise.”

Hashirama is staring at the floor, uncharacteristically serious. His hands are clenched together. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“No.”

His chin jerks up. Mito nearly drops one of the cups.

“You’re a really bad kisser,” Madara says absurdly. He feels absurd. Maybe this is a dream.

Hashirama slumps slowly forward, hair covering his face. “You’re so cruel, Madara,” he whispers, pained. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but you weren’t very good either.”

_“You attacked me!”_

He straightens and points at him. “Then it’s only fair you give me another chance!”

_“HOW IS THAT FAIR?”_

“Yes,” Mito agrees flatly, turning to peer at her boyfriend disapprovingly. “How is that fair? I haven’t had my turn yet.”

“You’re not missing much,” Hashirama mutters resentfully, crossing his arms and glaring sulkily at the floor.

Madara stalks forward. Hashirama raises his head quickly, whipping himself in the face with his own hair—and squawks when Madara bypasses him, grabs Mito by the face and kisses her close-mouthed.

It is significantly dryer than Hashirama’s kiss, and also significantly better. Hashirama seems to sense this: he dances around them like an anxious child, all but tugging on their sleeves to insist on another go. It is almost comforting; they are taller and older, but Hashirama is still as much of a sore loser as ever.

Mito gently pulls away and tugs his hands from her burning face. “I will let it go this once, but if you grab me like that again you will thoroughly regret it. And please give Hashirama another chance before he combusts, good gods.”

He must be drunker than he thought: dazed and warm, he turns his head without question and accepts Hashirama’s eager kiss.


End file.
